#i am appropriately ashamed of myself

[hurtcomforted]

me, in perfect sync with taking the first bite of dinner after a long day, internally sighing: val kilmer tied to a chair...

[prstmmprhdl]

Art is my religion. Has always been. And I’ve never divided it into high and low. There’s a story a bit lower down my wall about the god of Arepo. About the god of small things. Because small things and dedication to them matter.

I can perceive that things are not the same. But it doesn’t matter. When you’re broken sometimes it’s the grandeur of history and hard work that saves you. Sometimes it’s the warmth of a well-known path. Sometimes it’s a change, a hope for everything in the world that is good. Sometimes it’s a moment to wallow in pain, description of the ugliness of the world. Everything is important. Everything has this potential to touch, to reach, to embrace.

I HATE “loving things ironically”. If a thing sparks something in me, I’ll burn with it until there’s nothing left of our love.

Everything deserves love, everything deserves this dedication. It doesn’t mean we should be head over hills over every single thing ever. But that we can be - over anything.

UPD: oh. It seems I’ve ratatouilled myself.

[strictpunishedhubby]

Vor einer angekündigten Züchtigung lässt mich meine Frau oft bis zu einer Stunde mit heruntergezogenem Schlüpfer in der Ecke warten. Ab und zu hat sie ihre nostalgische Phase und erinnert mich daran, wie meine Mama mich bis vor und sogar noch am Anfang unserer Ehe erzogen hat, nämlich bei Ungezogenheit mit Haue auf meinen nackten Po. Erst als meine Mama davon überzeugt war, meine Frau erzieht und bestraft mich sogar oft noch strenger, übertrug Mama ihr das alleinige Erziehungsrecht. Meine Frau setzt das ihr übertragene Erziehungsrecht bis heute verantwortungsvoll und akribisch in Mamas Sinne um. Die langanhaltenden Prügelstrafen und einschneidende demütigende Vorschriften und Gebote, die schon meine Mama bei mir anwendete hat sie nahtlos übernommen. Wie meine Mama sieht meine Frau mich noch heute, obwohl ich ein erwachsener Mann bin, in mir nur den kleinen, unreifen, ungezogenen Rotzjungen. Ironisch gönnerhaft, um wie sie mir sagt die Zeit bis sie mir meine angebrachte Tracht Prügel verabreicht zu verkürzen, erinnert sie mich daran, wie meine Mama ihr von Episoden vorschwärmte, wie sie mich verprügelt hat, wenn ich ungezogen war. Sie merkt ich bin dann wie Wachs in ihren Händen, denn durch diese Erinnerungen bin noch immer der kleine Junge geblieben, ich mit Haue erzogen werde, wenn ich unartig war und ich das ergeben, als normal und selbstverständlich hinnehme, sogar erwarte, einfach weil ich es seit Kindheit gewohnt bin. Erst gestern stand ich so beschämt in der Ecke, als sie mir zufrieden, nicht zum ersten Mal, wieder vor Augen führte, wie ich damals als 17-Jähriger bestraft wurde, wegen einer schlecht benotenden und deshalb von mir verheimlichten Mathearbeit. Sie erinnert mich wohl deshalb regelmäßig an die von meiner Mama durchgeführten Bestrafungen um mir zu zeigen, ich habe bis heute nichts dazugelernt, folgerichtig müsse sie in die Fußstapfen meiner Mama treten. Deshalb stände ich hier um wie schon wieder darauf warten zu müssen versohlt zu werden, was ja leider wegen meines noch immer so oft ungezogenen Verhaltens schon fast an der Tagesordnung sei. Sie weiß, ich habe immer ein schlechtes, schuldbewusstes Gewissen, wenn sie mich wie einen ungezogenen Rotzjungen zurechtweist. Auch heute noch sei ich ein verlogener, kleiner Flegel, sie befolge deshalb gerne den Rat meiner Mama, mich weiterhin streng mit Prügelstrafen zu erziehen und mich wie ein ungezogenes Bübchen zu behandeln, dementsprechend weiterhin nur beschämende Wäsche, solche wie Du sie hier siehst, zu genehmigen.

.

Before an announced corporal punishment, my wife often makes me wait in the corner with my panties down for up to an hour. Every now and then she has her nostalgic phase and reminds me of how my mummy raised me before and even at the beginning of our marriage, namely when I was naughty with a spanking on my bare bottom. Only when my mummy was convinced that my wife educates and punishes me even more severely, did mom give her the sole right to educateme. To this day, my wife continues to implement the sole right to educate entrusted to her responsibly and meticulously in mummy's spirit. She seamlessly adopted the long-lasting beatings and drastic, humiliating rules and commandments that my used on me. Like my mummy, even today my wife, even though I am a grown man, only sees me as a little, immature, naughty brat. In an ironic, patronizing way, as she tells me, to shorten the time until she gives me my appropriate spanking, she reminds me of how my mom used to rave to her about episodes in which she would spank me when I was naughty. She notices that I am like putty in her hands because, through these memories, I have always remained the little boy that I was brought up with a beating when I was naughty and I resign myself to it, accept it as normal and self-evident, even expect it, simply because I have been used to it since childhood. Only yesterday I was standing in the corner, so ashamed, as she happily reminded me, not for the first time, how I was punished as a 17-year-old because I got a bad grade on a math test and therefore kept it secret. That's probably why she regularly reminds me of the punishments my mummy carried out to show me that I haven't learned anything and that she must follow in my mummy's footsteps. That's why I'm standing here waiting to be spanked again, which unfortunately is almost the order of the day because of my still so often naughty behavior. She knows that I always have a bad, guilty conscience when she reprimands me like a naughty brat. Even today I am a lying, little lout, so she is happy to follow my mummy's advice to continue to discipline me strictly with corporal punishment and to treat me like a naughty little boy, and accordingly to continue to only allow me to wear shameful underwear, such as the one you see here.

Zu meiner Schande um mich weiter zu demütigen, erinnerte sie mich an den Vorfall von damals.  Während ihrer Schilderung versetzte sie mich dabei wegen meiner bevorstehende Rohrstockstrafe in eine noch angstvollere Stimmung. Aber nicht genug damit, zu meiner Bloßstellung und Deiner Aufheiterung (so wie Du gleich erfährst, meine Klassenkameraden mich damals ausgelacht, gehänselt und mich mit Spott überzogen haben), beauftragte sie mich Dir hier diese für mich so missliche Episode wiederzugeben, die ihr meine Mamma genüsslich, erfreut und detailliert schilderte.

Als er 17 Jahre alt war, hat er im Beisein einer Klassenkameradin und ihrer Mama einer der demütigsten Tracht Prügel seines Lebens von mir bekommen. Dabei stellte ich eindrucksvoll unter Beweis, dass man keine Gegenstände braucht um einem ungezogenen Bengel wie ihn, den Hintern so zu versohlen, sodass er Rotz und Wasser heult.

Wir saßen in der Küche als seine Klassenkameradin sich verplapperte, dass schon die Mathearbeit (er bekam eine glatte 5) zurückgegeben wurde. Als ich den Bengel danach fragte hatte er es verneint, also mich angelogen, und das musste äußerst streng bestraft werden. Er bekam zwei Ohrfeigen und dann machte ich mich an seiner kurzen Turnhose zu schaffen. Mit einem Ruck zog ich diese mit seinem rosa Schlüpfer herunter. Ich nahm mir einen Stuhl, stellte mein linkes Bein darauf, zog den faulen Lügner darüber und klemmte ihn unter meiner linken Achsel ein. Was ihm in den nächsten Minuten passierte, hat er wohl nie mehr vergessen. Vor den Augen seiner Klassenkameradin und ihrer Mama bekam er jetzt mit meiner flachen Hand den nackten Hintern versohlt. Die ganze Zeit über schimpfte ich ihn wütend aus, während meine Hand immer und immer wieder abwechselnd heftig auf seinen beiden Pobacken klatschte. Er heulte Rotz und Wasser, schrie was das Zeug hielt, bettelte ich möge bitte aufhören. Aber meine Hand war unbarmherzig und brachte mein Werk gnadenlos zu Ende. Als ich von ihm abblies, lag er schluchzend auf dem Küchenboden und rieb seinen knallroten Hintern der wohl wie Feuer brannte. Kurze Zeit später stand er mit nacktem Po noch immer heulend in der Ecke. Seine Turnhose und sein rosa Schlüpfer, die während seiner heftigen Züchtigung herunterfielen, weil er so heftig mit seinen Beinen gestrampelt hat, lagen noch auf dem Boden. Das stattfindende Gespräch über seine Erziehung beschämte ihn noch mehr, denn ich berichtete den beiden ausführlich über sein so oft ungezogenes Verhalten, und das ich ihm dann jedes Mal seinen nackten Po versohle. Er verhält sich dabei wie ein kleiner Junge, nicht wie ein 17- jähriger und ich werde ihn auch zukünftig so bestrafen und erziehen. Als mich seine Klassenkameradin fragte ob meine Tochter auch so bestraft würde, sagte ich ihr, in keinem Fall, Mädchen schlägt man nicht, aber da er ein Junge ist, dazu noch ein frecher und unfolgsamer, bekommt er meist mehrmals wöchentlich seine verdiente Haue von mir! Ein Lächeln ging über ihr Gesicht, und sofort darauf erfolgte ein lautes, hämisches Lachen von uns dreien, während wir ein jämmerliches, erbärmliches Schluchzen von dem unartigen Jammerlappen zu hören bekamen. Daraufhin brummte ich ihm eine Woche Stubenarrest auf. Nachdem der Besuch gegangen war, holte ich ihn aus der Ecke und den Rest des Tages musste er im Bett verbringen.

Als ich einige Tage später zufällig seine Klassenkameradin traf, berichtete sie mir fröhlich, wie köstlich die anderen Mädchen und Jungen aus der Klasse sich amüsierten, als sie detailliert von seiner von mir durchgeführten Abstrafung erzählte. Sie wussten alle sowieso schon seit langem, er ist ein Mädchenwäscheträger, der trotz seines Alters noch seinen Po versohlt bekommt.

Wenn ich in der Ecke stehe und meine Frau erinnert mich daran, dass ich schon als Kind und Jugendlicher ungezogen, frech und wehleidig war, dem nur beizukommen war, indem meine Mama mich unter anderem mit Prügel, Eckestehen und frühe Bettzeiten bestrafte, bin ich fügsam und kapiere, meine Frau handelt richtig, denn noch heute sind die Strafen gerechtfertigt und angemessen.

Meine Frau hofft doch sehr darauf, auch Du unterstützt ihre Vorgehensweise mich zu einem artigen Ehemann zu erziehen, auch indem ich mich hier offenbaren muss und zuzugeben habe, ich bin der kleine, unartiger Rotzjunge von damals geblieben. Durch ein like, und / oder einen Kommentar, und/ oder einen Reblog bestätigst Du ihre strenge Vorgehensweise beizubehalten. Sie dankt Dir dafür! Auch ich habe Dir dann zu danken, sozusagen als Ausdruck meiner Einsicht, bei Ungezogenheit von meiner Frau weiterhin so bestraft zu werden.

.

To my shame and to further humiliate me, she reminded me of the incident from back then. During her description she put me in an even more anxious mood because of my impending caning punishment. But that wasn't enough, to expose me and cheer you up (as you will soon find out, my classmates laughed at me, teased me and ridiculed me back then), she ordered me to recount to you this episode, which was so unpleasant for me and which my mummy described to her with relish, delight and in detail.

We were sitting in the kitchen when his classmate let slip that the math test (he got a straight 5) had already been returned. When I asked the brat about it, he denied it, which meant he lied to me, and that had to be punished extremely severely.

When he was 17 years old, he received one of the most humiliating beatings of his life from me in the presence of a classmate and her mummy. I impressively demonstrated that you don't need any objects to spank a naughty brat like him until he cries his eyes out.

When I asked the urchin about it, he denied it, which meant he lied to me, and that had to be punished extremely severely. He got two slaps in the face and then I started working on his gym shorts. With a tug I pulled them down with his pink panties. took a chair, put my left leg on it, pulled the lazy liar over it and trapped him under my left armpit. He will probably never forget what happened to him in the next few minutes. In front of his classmate and her mother, he got his bare bottom spanked with the flat of my hand. The whole time I was scolding him angrily while my hand slapped both of his buttocks, alternately, over and over again. He cried his eyes out, screamed at the top of his lungs, begged me to please stop. But my hand was merciless and finished my work without mercy. When I let go of him, he was lying sobbing on the kitchen floor and rubbing his bright red bottom, which was probably burning like fire. A short time later, he was standing in the corner, still crying, with his bottom bare. His gym shorts and pink panties, which had fallen off during his severe punishment because he had kicked his legs so hard, were still lying on the floor. The conversation that followed about his education embarrassed him even more, because I told them in detail about his often naughty behavior, that I then spank his bare bottom every time. He behaves at the same time like a little boy, not like a 17-year-old, and I will continue to punish and educate him like this. When his classmate asked me if my daughter was punished in the same way, I told her that I definitely wouldn't do it. Girls shouldn't be hit, but because he's a boy, and a cheeky and disobedient one at that, he usually gets the beating he deserves from me several times a week! A smile spread across her face, and immediately there followed a loud, malicious laugh from the three of us, while we heard pitiful, miserable sobs from the naughty wretch. As a result, I grounded him for a week.

After the visitor left, I took him out of the corner and he had to spend the rest of the day in bed. When I happened to meet his classmate a few days later, she happily told me how much the other boys and girls in the class enjoyed themselves when she described in detail the punishment I had given him. They all knew for a long time, that he was a girl's underwear wearer who, despite his age, still got his bottom spanked.

When I stand in the corner and my wife reminds me that I was naughty, cheeky and whiny as a child and teenager, and that the only way to deal with that was for my mother to punish me with things like beating me, standing in the corner and sending me to bed early, I am docile and understand that my wife is doing the right thing, because even today the punishments are justified and appropriate.

My wife is really hoping that you will also promote her procedure to raise me to be a well-behaved husband, even though I have to reveal myself here and admit that I am still the little, naughty brat I was back then. By liking and/or commenting and/or rebloging, you confirm that you will continue to follow her strict procedure. She thanks you for that! I also have to thank you, so to speak, as an expression of my insight, if I am naughty, to continue to be punished like this, by my wife.

[leebrontide]

OK!

So I am tired to death of people learning a bulletpoint definition of CBT writen by some influencer trying to sell them a tracking app, on fucking Instagram, and deciding that therapy is useless.

What CBT is NOT: Talking yourself out of having negative feelings because all your problems are made up and in your head.

What CBT IS: checking your thoughts to make sure that the negative emotion you're having is the one that best applies to the situation, so it can motivate appropriate behavior!

If someone treats me shitty, and I try to do the first approach, I am going to conclude that their shitty behavior doesn't matter and I'm going to keep tolerating it. If I do the second one, I can make sure that I'm not shaming myself for someone else's shitty behavior, so I can get appropriately mad, and correct or remove the person pissing me off! The anger is useful and she shame was not!

What CBT is NOT: taking solo responsibility for every stressor in your life, like trying to therapy your way out of the very real stressors of poverty.

What CBT IS: working to connect you to useful feelings that can make you more resilient against those stressors (by, for example, letting go of being ashamed of not having money, so you don't go get the food stamps that would help you) AND by helping you to connect to your feelings about WHY you are in poverty, which can connect you to things like collective action to address large scale issues!

What CBT is NOT: removing all your feelings in place of "rational" thought.

What CBT IS: making your feelings a useful source of information about your needs, so you can see all of them and not get sucked in to tunnel vision, and find more and better ways to improve your life. Like yeah - maybe right now you are stuck at a garbage job that is making you miserable! Maybe that's your reality at this moment! But maybe you are also lonely and when you take stock of that feeling you can recognize that seeing a friend would help you feel better, even while this other problem is not resolved yet!

Is CBT the solution to everything? NO! Is it an approachable way to debug some of your feelings and take some internal pressure off? Yes! Everyone has some thoughts that are not 100% true. Our brains are basically a power-aide jello full of electricity it's amazing they work as well as they even do. But it's useful to audit that shit now and then. That's what CBT is. It's just auditing your thoughts so your feelings work better to actually address or survive your real life problems.

I know not everybody can access therapy but PLEASE stop making therapy look fucking useless so that when people can access help they have already been told that change is impossible and getting help is useless.

Know what therapy is so you can get it if you need it when you can, and also so that if you have a garbage therapist you can recognize them as such and replace them.

[rebellenotes]

I hate being asked "how are you?"

It doesn't matter if it's just a greeting. It'll always make me look inwards and think, how am I, really?

The answer will always be somewhere on the "not good" side of the spectrum (whatever that spectrum is). I know the appropriate answer is "good," or "fine," because the person asking isn't really wanting to know how I am doing, but it physically pains me to lie and say I'm fine when I'm not. I can't do it.

I am a great liar, but I can't lie when someone asks me how I am. It feels too raw, too exposed, like opening a wound in front of someone who just expected a wave and a smile. But I can’t keep it all inside, either.

When someone asks me how I am, a part of me wants to answer honestly. I want to say, “Actually, I’m not okay.” I want them to know that I’m not coping, that my thoughts feel too heavy, that sometimes I can barely make it through the day without collapsing under the weight of it all. I need to tell someone—someone who isn’t the relentless voice in my head—that I’m struggling.

It’s not about wanting to burden them. That’s the last thing I want. I just need to hear the words out loud. I need to feel like someone else knows, like I’m not carrying this entirely on my own. Because the more I keep it in, the louder it gets in my mind, and the harder it becomes to convince myself that I’m okay.

So when someone asks “how are you?” I hesitate. I want to scream, “I’m not fine!” but I worry about their reaction. What if they don’t care? What if I scare them off? What if my honesty makes them uncomfortable? But then I think: maybe that’s not my problem. Maybe my honesty is exactly what I need, even if it’s messy, even if it makes someone else squirm.

Because sometimes just saying it—just admitting that I’m not okay—feels like a tiny victory. It feels like I’ve broken free of the silence, even if only for a moment. And maybe, just maybe, someone will hear me and say, “I get it. You’re not alone.”

And if they don’t? If they give me a quick “oh, I’m sorry to hear that” and move on? At least I didn’t lie. At least I didn’t pretend. At least I was honest about the fact that, right now, I’m not fine—and that has to count for something.

Why are we as a society so scared to honestly tell people how we're doing? If I'm the recipient of someone honestly answering the question "how are you," (because I am also a culprit of asking it), I don't feel burdened. I think "oh, thank god I'm not alone." We may not carry the same hardships or experiences, but I can empathise with them because I know the weight your thoughts and emotions can have over you.

And maybe that’s the whole point—we’re all carrying something, but we’ve collectively decided to bury it beneath polite smiles and scripted responses. It’s like we’ve created this unspoken rule that vulnerability is too messy for casual conversation. That sharing how we really feel is somehow selfish or inappropriate, as if admitting struggle makes us weak.

But what if it didn’t? What if answering “how are you?” with honesty made us feel seen instead of ashamed? What if it created connection instead of discomfort?

It’s a reminder that the chaos in my own head isn’t unique or isolating. Someone else has been there, is there, and maybe together we can feel a little less trapped in our own silences. When someone shares their truth with me, it feels like an invitation—not to fix them or offer empty platitudes, but just to sit with them in it. To acknowledge that being human is hard and complicated and not something any of us are meant to do entirely on our own.

I think the fear of answering honestly comes from not knowing how the other person will react. What if they dismiss it? What if they pity us? What if they get uncomfortable and change the subject? But maybe the fear goes deeper. Maybe it’s because once we say it out loud—once we admit that we’re struggling—it becomes real. And that’s terrifying.

But the thing is, it’s already real. It’s already there, weighing us down. Speaking it doesn’t create the weight—it lightens it. Even if only by a fraction. Even if only for a moment.

So maybe the next time someone asks me how I’m doing, I’ll take the risk. I’ll choose honesty, not just for myself but for them too. Because maybe they need to hear it. Maybe they need to know they’re not the only one walking through life with invisible battles. And maybe, just maybe, in sharing my truth, I can make space for someone else to share theirs.

[liesinmyeyes]

hey, so I'm a new pagan witch and one who has barely practiced anything yet/ has only like 10 pages filled in their book of shadows

i am seeking advice on what to do with myself and my craft and practices, or just hoping someone has felt/currently feels the same way I do because I'm the only pagan witch I know irl and have no one to tell this to.

practicing witchcraft makes me anxious? I haven't really done anything aside from wearing crystal necklaces and sleeping with an amethyst below my pillow, but i'm lowkey afraid to do much more than that because whenever I do research across the internet (don't worry, I don't only take one pinterest source at face value, I make sure to look at other sources on the internet and always check with multiple witchy forums/threads or just simply history sources if the practice is closed/appropriated or should be done as a beginner) - but here is my issue. There's soooo many sources on the internet that tell you so many differing opinions. Some sources will say "NO WAY DON'T EVER DO THAT" while others will go "it's okay and totally safe". I haven't ever read a book abt witchcraft because I know how much TERF-y and culturally appropriate-y agendas they have and the amount of misinformation in a lot of them. I almost got radicalized once before and I told myself "never again", so i'm too afraid to pick up a book half the witches praise for being so good and accurate and half condemn for including TERF bs. I know I should form my own opinions on magic(k) and how I percieve witchcraft but i just get this BOUT of anxiety whenever I see a post anywhere on the internet saying "DONT EVER DO THAT AS A WITCH" or something along those lines... i can never tell what's just gatekeepy fear-mongering and what's an actual closed/dangerous practice anymore and it makes me too afraid to pursue anything because I fear bad things happening to me more than anything. I think it's a side effect of my neurodivergent self wanting to be told exactly what I can and can't do (considering my ethnic identity) and how and when to do it, what moral code to abide by, which is a tough ask in something like witchcraft.

i often feel swayed and get these bouts of guilt for NOT being christian. I grew up areligious in a very christian country with an added sprinkle of shaming people for being religious (which i dont agree with obvs). When I was agnostic and not giving any thought to religion at all, it was fine and dandy. But now that I identify myself as a pagan who worships the greek gods, I often feel, idk, ashamed of it? I'm friends with some very devout christian gals and whenever they talk about going to church or getting their sins forgiven I just feel so guilty and kind of like I'm sinning myself. I feel like I shouldn't be believing in the Gods and should be christian instead, even though SO many of my world views don't align with christianity's teachings and frankly, I don't want to be christian? I want the Gods to be real and I want to worship them. But I often doubt my faith in them and feel the guilt of not being christian like everyone else in my country. Is this a faith issue? On some days I won't doubt the Gods existing at all and feel all happy and uplifted and sure in my faith and on other days I'll be sitting around all day, questioning all my morals and beliefs and questioning whether I'm going to hell for praying to the greek gods. Maybe it's because of all my sorroundings (multiple churches in my town, Jesus statues everywhere, very christian friends) that I feel that way, but if anyone could tell me how to stop these thoughts I'd give ANYTHING to do that. (Not that there's anything wrong with christianity or finding comfort in it, its just that whenever I think about it I get anxious because the concept of eternal torture just for enjoying life on earth scares me. On the other hand, I DO find comfort in worshiping the greek gods. I feel more beautiful, inspired to write, so on and so forth...)

[hero-israel]

Can i just say I am so sick and tired of people claiming genocide. I mean with saying Israel is committing genocide on Palestinians right now. Every time I see it I want to scream. This is one of the numerous reasons why the pro palestine movement sucks. They can't just say something is bad, focus on real grievances. Instead they have to exaggerate and claim everything is the worst possible version. They can't just say "palestinian civilians are suffering," or even "excessive civilian deaths." No. they have to claim genocide.

it’s disgusting. they are appropriating terms and watering them down in the process. genocide is a very real horrific problem that is ACTUALLY happening to people right now... and they have to claim that term for their situation because why? to paint israel/israelis as the ultimate evil? to claim this issue is the worst ever and insist everyone else drop everything and only care about this? to add more emphasis on their lies and propaganda of israel being a colonial empire practicing apartheid? intentional flipping because they know Jews have been victim to genocide (we see this more explicitly when they compare Israel in this war to nazis)?

Maybe part of it is that if israel is responsible for genocide, then there’s no need to acknowledge how HAMAS and their actions play a significant role in palestinian suffering? (It can't be that hamas steals aid for civilians, no it must be 100% israel’s fault and only theirs! Also joe Biden I guess! /sarcasm)

No matter what, it’s a cynical ploy and absolutely disgusting.

In some ways it reminds me of how people online have taken terms like “trigger,” “gaslight,” and more, and completely twisted and watered down their meaning, turned it all into a joke ... except obviously much worse, here.

what really grinds me up is seeing how many people are buying into this. especially gen z. I am so done with my generation honestly. im ashamed to be associated with these people. part of me doesn't get it. im not jewish. and i try my best not to be antisemitic, educate myself. it does take work, but also it’s NOT THAT HARD to just NOT post completely unverified stuff, NOT absorb your news from social media, NOT give accusations of genocide without doing any research, bothering to learn about historical context, actually understanding what experts say and explanations why it is not genocide? And most of all actually LISTEN to jewish people when they talk about their own history and heritage?

Im not saying this to say im so great, in fact it's the opposite: what im doing is nothing special and amazing. it's really BASIC. yet SO MANY PEOPLE fail this??? what the fuck????

I understand people cannot educate themselves on literally very single topic. But then if they are ignorant, then they should just SHUT UP and not weigh on something they didn't take the work to understand. That is not hard!!!! NOT casually throwing around accusations of genocide should be the bare minimum and yet here we are.

All of the above. I am sorry you are dealing with this from so many among your cohort, and deeply appreciate your commitment as a non-Jew to resisting the new Christ-killer / stab-in-the-back mythology. It will continue to be difficult. For decades - for CENTURIES - all the wealthiest and most educated people in societies worldwide "knew" the Jews were guilty of these terrible things.

Derek Chauvin was convicted of the second- and third-degree murder of George Floyd. There were people at that time who were upset he hadn't been nailed for first-degree murder - he was obviously guilty! Look what a horrible thing he did! Get him for everything! But there actually really are different standards of evidence for different crimes and if prosecutors had tried to go for that one they would have lost.

I don't doubt for an instant that the IDF has committed multiple war crimes during this entirely preventable, entirely pointless cataclysm. But people are racing past the crimes that are clearly visible and could be supported by evidence because they want - need - HOPE for the very worst one to be true. It is a moral obscenity. And you can tell how much they are enjoying themselves, how fine it feels to be able to invoke genocide against Jews and Uno-reverse that nagging Holocaust card, by how quickly they revert to petty Internet slang to silence counter-arguments: "lol WELL ACTUALLLYYY, so you're JUST ASKING QUESTIONS rite, nice SEALIONING." It is meant to be an inherently, automatically truthful claim, one that the Jew has no right to deny.

The Disputations of our time.

And as we did in the past... we must answer, because not-answering will not help.

[anstarwar]

Hiiiii ❤️❤️ I’m a new follower (ashamed of myself for not finding you sooner!), but am already completely enthralled with your SW work. The way you create and characterize clones makes me absolutely giddy (pls! Duckie?! I LOVE HIM.) thank you for sharing your incredible gift with us and for bringing me many, many smiles

Hiiii! Welcome! Thank you for the follow and your kind words (flail). NGL I’ve saved this ask cuz it definitely brings me a big heap of joy to read it, but I also wanted to say thank you and say I’m glad the way I create clones bring YOU joy, so I’ve finally replied (sorry it took a minute)! 🥰

Here, I asked Tech what he thought an appropriate thank you would be, and he delivered

[lostfirefly]

I want to sincerely address something important regarding recent activity associated with my account. Unfortunately, my account was hacked, and someone used it to post things that I would never, under any circumstances, say or do.

It’s devastating to know that this caused harm or distress to others, and I deeply regret that this happened. I want to emphasize that I had no control over what was written or shared. It was not my intention, and it does not reflect my thoughts, feelings, or who I am as a person. The fact that someone else took over my account and used it to hurt people is deeply upsetting to me, and I want to extend my sincerest apologies to anyone who was affected.

As soon as I realized what was happening, I took immediate steps to regain control of my account and secure it to prevent any further issues. I’ve also reported the situation to the appropriate platforms to ensure this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.

The idea that someone else used my account to cause pain is horrifying, and I want to assure everyone that I am taking this very seriously. If you’ve been hurt or upset by anything that was said or done, please know that I am truly sorry for the impact it’s had. This experience has been a wake-up call for me to be more vigilant about security and to communicate more openly.

I appreciate your understanding and patience as I work to make things right. If there’s anything I can do to address specific concerns, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

I struggle with depression, and it often brings a flood of bad thoughts that are difficult to control. It’s something I’ve been working on, but there are days when it feels heavier than others. Even during those dark moments, I want to make it very clear that I would never intentionally put anyone through the pain of dealing with my emotions at their worst.

That’s why I’ve tried to manage it on my own, even though that might not have been the healthiest choice. It’s not that I didn’t trust the people around me to support me; it’s just that I’ve felt so consumed by this storm in my mind that I didn’t know how to reach out without feeling like I was pulling everyone else into it. I didn’t want my emotional struggles to become anyone else’s burden.

If I’ve come off as distant, irritable, or even indifferent, please know that it’s never been my intention to hurt or push anyone away. I care deeply, and I value the people around me more than I can put into words. I just sometimes get caught up in my own head, trying to protect others from the weight I’m carrying.

I’m sharing this because I want to be honest and because I know I need to do better, not just for myself, but for the people I care about. I appreciate your understanding, patience, and kindness more than I can say, and I hope this helps explain a little of what’s been going on with me.

Beyond the hacking, I feel the need to be open about something else. It’s incredibly hard for me to live during this time of war. Watching others hold onto their futures and dreams while I feel like those options have been taken from me is a pain I struggle to put into words. I try so hard every day to push away these dark thoughts, to find a reason to keep going, and to believe that there’s still hope for me, too.

I’ve wanted so badly to share my fears and struggles with you, to let you into my world, but it’s not easy to show that vulnerability. I’ve felt weak and ashamed at times for not being stronger, for not having the resilience I see in others. But I’m working on it—I’m trying my best to cope, to focus on what I can do to move forward, and to protect the relationships I care about.

I deeply regret the impact of this hacker attack and the hurt it caused, and I also hope you can forgive me for my own moments of weakness. I am human, and I make mistakes, but I value you and your understanding more than words can express.

Thank you for your patience and kindness. I hope that, moving forward, I can rebuild any trust that’s been shaken and share my stories, my fears, and even my small victories with you. Your support means everything to me.

[yelenasdiary]

Read this or don't, that's completely fine. I was going to explain everything in a reply to an ask that I was sent but an anon that has nothing to do with this, they are lovely! I just think a post on its own is more appropriate.

Below the cut I warn you that topics like, Sexual Assault, Physical & Mental abuse are spoken about. Please do not bother to read this if you're not comfortable. I literally do not expect anybody to read this, I am simply posting this because of how I am feeling towards the asks I received before I went to bed last night.

I just want to say that I've been open about certain things in my life on here and that is simply because I want my blog to welcome everybody (within reason). I want those who unfortunately have been through similar stuff to feel seen, heard and know you are loved! I want those who feel alone to know that you're never alone, I am here for you, my blog is here for you.

This isn't the first time I have received asks about my sexual experiences. A month or two ago I received a spam of asks that I never answered because of how disturbing and outright disgusting they were. Now, after last night, I feel that I need post this. I am not asking for anything in return, I just want to make that clear. All I want is for people to understand the hurt I am currently feeling.

I've always been open on here about the fact that I am a virgin. It's nothing that I feel ashamed about, I don't think there is anything wrong with it. I know there are plenty of people like myself who are also virgins. I wish there were more people who are open about being a virgin, if people can be so open about the fact they aren't a virgin, why can't we be open about the fact we are?

So when this anon asked if I was a virgin, I was honest and said yes. My mind was already racing with "oh god, what's next?" and I was just hoping whoever they are was jus being curious. But instead, I feel like they've made me ashamed of the fact I am a virgin, 25 and write smut.

TW; SA, Physical & Mental Abuse Mentioned -

A few of you would already know that unfortunately yes, I am a victim of sexual assault. I was a child and it was something that happened daily for a couple of years. Due to this, I have trauma, PTSD, depression and anxiety. I grew up with little knowledge on the basics of sex because of how triggering it was for me. I couldn't sit in on sexual education classes, I couldn't joke around about penis's with my friends let along look at one. For so long, I genuinely believed what happened to me was normal. I was 12 when I realised it wasn't.

It took me years to even be okay with the topic of sex, to see it in movies or even think of it. My sexuality wasn't something I always questioned, I had a big crush on Bieber during my teen years and there were a few other male celebrities that I found rather attractive, it wasn't until I was 17 that I saw women in a different way and tbh, the feeling I got from thinking about myself in a relationship with a woman was a lot more comforting then it was to thinking of myself with a male.

Did my abuse make me bisexual? Maybe. I don't know. I don't really care. I like women a lot more than I like men, I feel more comfortable talking to women than I do men.

Did my abuse stop me from having 'normal' teenage experiences? Yes. I have never physically been with anybody, I have never kissed anybody nor have I ever been on a date. Is that sad? maybe to some, to me? No.

I have little to no trust in males. Given that my abuser also physically abused me for such little things and mentally, I don't know what it feels like to not have the thoughts I do about myself. This person has ruined so much of my life and has had control over what I do because of the trauma they caused me.

But all that aside for a moment, I am still a human. I am a woman who still feels things. I am learning every day of new things. I have done plenty of research for the things I felt I missed out on in school. I have a best friend who is so fucking patient and understanding with me that he will explain things to me if needed.

Writing & reading smut over the last year has been really good for me. I don't mean that in a weird way, I mean that in a way it has helped me explore things I didn't know were a thing, it has helped me grow more comfortable with sex and that sex is a normal thing. Don't worry, I know what is written in smut is purely fiction, I know what happens in porn isn't real. I am not stupid.

But I can't sit here and say that smut has been really helpful. Some of you might not understand that and that's okay. But I have come a long way with being comfortable and finally feeling like I can be open about things I enjoy.

Back to this anon.

Yes, I am 25 and never had sex. I have never voluntarily sucked a guy off. i have never voluntarily slept with a male, touched a male or seen a males body. Why any of that is important to you makes no sense to me. You have brought back things that I wish to not think about. You have made me feel triggered and as though I shouldn't be writing such topics because of my lack of experience. You had no consideration whats so ever and I believe found it rather funny.

I am feeling so many feelings and having thoughts that I wish to express but I know you'll most likely see it has a sob story and make matters worse. What I do hope though is that if you have read this that you understand that your words and actions hurt. I am not weak for telling you this, I am not weak for not having any sexual experience, I am not weak for asking you to understand that your thoughtless actions were not called for.

I do not need to have sex to know what I am doing. I do not need to have sex with a cis male to know how to write about dicks. I do not need you to make me feel ashamed of this either.

This is already such a long post and I don't even expect anybody to still be reading this but if you are, please, please remember to always be kind! spread love, support and happiness. You honest have no idea what your words and actions can do to somebody. Be aware and be considerate, you would never want your closest friends to feel that way I am currently feeling.

I am sending love to everybody, if you ever need a friend to talk too my DMS//asks are always open. I will listen and be whoever it is you need 💜

[mossadspypigeon]

Btw, absolutely no hate towards vegans. I know most of yall are cool, and I do not judge you for your choices. As a matter of fact, I am a huge fan of the Impossible Nuggets from Trader Joe’s.

You know what’s fucking crazy? The vegan animal rights activists who compare pigs in pork farms to concentration camps.

I’m not related to any Holocaust survivors (that I know of)… but I learned a lot about the Holocaust because I’m literally Jewish. Plus, I went through a period where I had no interest in anything except for Anne Frank (which went way beyond her dying, btw. Turns out I have a lot in common with her! I once had a dream where I met her, and we talked about my Zaide (z’l) while petting cats). I don’t eat pork, for three reasons. 1. I’m Jewish, and we keep kosher so no pork. 2. I bonded with a pig when I was in kindergarten, but that’s a story for another day (and it’s kind of wholesome). 3. I’m a disordered eater and trying new things is very hard for me, but I am very ashamed of it because I know that I am missing out on all the diverse foods of the world and they look wonderful and I am so sorry, I am working through it, help me.

All that aside, I would never tell some rando that they can’t have their bacon and cheese sandwich because a pig died for that. I’m pretty sure they know, and I’m not vegan myself (see above). But it is fucking gross to see radical vegan animal rights activists appropriating Jewish trauma for their agenda.

Yes, this was about That Vegan Teacher. And by the way, I would love to see her go toe to toe with Kaitlyn Bennet, aka Gun Girl. It would warm my heart to see two vile women fail to prove their own points.

I’m so sorry none of this was coherent. Hope this could be an interruption of the bs you constantly get in your inbox

omg fam i was a vaguely normal (and constantly having an allergic reaction) vegan jew during the “IT’S A HOLOCAUST” craze in the early 00s and thrbrbjehr the amount of knock down drag out fights i had with weirdos back then lmao.

makes you realize nothing changes 😂 the venn diagram of pro palestine rhetoric and vegan bs from 2006 is a circle.

💙👏 do not be sorry!! thank you for messaging me!

LOLOL the part about two vile women failing to prove their own points. yes pleaseee

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

Haven't heard from you in a while, hope you're doing well! <3

Hey, nonnie - I'm doing alright. Personal ramble below the cut. Skip if you're just here for fanfic reading and don't care about my silly little melodrama.

Not going to go into too much detail, but I've been really feeling the depression lately. For context, I have clinical depression and take a really high dose of antidepressants, which fuck with other aspects of my life (i.e. weight and lack of sleep). Medical consensus is that I'll need medication for the rest of my life as my brain does not perform the appropriate mood-regulating functions (I'm not super sure what the specifics of this are). I've struggled with low feeling, demotivation, SI/SH etc. for nearly nine years now. I've slipped into a bit of an episode lately - not necessarily related to being online but Tumblr is a part of it - but I'm trying to work my way out of it by picking up some new-old hobbies, such as crochet, and doing things that I like and that don't stress me. I'm safe and don't have the opportunity to action any of my feelings, so please don't worry about me!

Unfortunately, Tumblr has been a source of stress for me since I've come on here. I've made some downright terrible choices in friends, in behaviour, in the amount of energy I commit to this space, and the only one who can really break this cycle is me. This site hosts a really wide range of personalities, and I just... feel like I've encountered some of the absolute worst among all of that, and it's done me absolutely no favours when it comes to making good choices. We all say that as adults, we should know better, but there's no sudden switch that flips, you know? We spend our whole lives making mistakes and learning from them. Adulthood isn't the abrupt entry into moral infallibility, and that's been something I've had to address and work through when it comes to my own failings.

To be perfectly honest, Tumblr isn't a supportive place. Or the people aren't. I don't really know which. To clarify, I do generally speak of the community of artists and writers in this, not the people here who just want to enjoy art or read someone's fanfic. I suppose there's a certain level of - I don't know - self-centredness? - when it comes to creating an online presence and sharing one's own creations on the internet. That mentality, I think, bleeds over into feelings of entitlement in creative communities. Entitlement to other people's time, to people's attention, to people's promotion, and when one doesn't get that, the problems start: (best to worst =) transactional interaction, badmouthing, hate anons, public bashing, and the list goes on. I've definitely been someone who has been upset by people's lack of interaction. I've responded with "oh, I'm not reblogging until they reblog mine" more than once. We all know that I've been involved with badmouthing and publicly bashing others. I continue to be very ashamed of this, and I am honest with myself about what I've done and how I got there in my journey working through my problems and making meaningful change in my life.

Anyway, point is - I'm trying to divorce myself from the entitlement, and I think to do that I need to divorce myself from the notion that we exist as a community. I've put far too much effort into that idea, and it's gotten me absolutely nowhere. There are more people who dislike me than not. Most just straight-up ignore me. I deserve it, sure, but (or maybe and) I have no intention of continuing to engage in a space that either doesn't exist or where I'm not wanted. I've felt anxious and upset at the mere thought of going on Tumblr the past few months. It hasn't been bringing me joy anymore, and that was the whole point of it. There's so much bad blood associated with being on here, but I love writing. I love this show. I can't give up something that makes me so happy in every respect other than this one site.

So I've taken some time off, reassessed the way I'm intending to use this space, and I've essentially decided that I started it for me so I'm going to do it for me. I'm going to interact with who I want and post what I want and damn absolutely everyone who tries to police me (of which there has been A LOT - apparently I have a "responsibility" to support others which I now know is actually code for "I'm jealous that you're getting any kind of attention online, so instead of addressing my issue with this, I'm going to vaguepost about/anon/DM you to try and guilt you into giving my work attention so that maybe it'll transfer to me").

For the casual peruser, no change at all. But I'm done giving my effort to the idea of 'community'. It doesn't exist, or I don't belong. I am going to do what makes me happy now, and only what makes me happy. That's the whole point. I'm sick of focusing on negatives. I'm sick of posting about them, to be honest. I think this mindset will do me good.

If you've gotten this far, I hope that it's okay that I've decided this. I'm feeling positive about it!

[theboywithburninghands]

And just like that… I got another one. Okay, so this one isn’t nearly as long or as complete as the last one, but I had the day off today and just… went for it. It could be good, it could be crap. But it’s here! @fernstarsblog And honestly I just felt like doing something… nicer today. It’s not nearly as tense or harsh as the last one. Hope you enjoy it byyyyyyye

T/W: Era appropriate sexism, mentions of domestic abuse and drug use

Primum Peccatum Ch. 10: Are You Ready For A Miracle?

Pomni and Jax returned to Primum Peccatum around 10:20 at night. Full dark had fallen by then, and the ferry had to maneuver carefully by spotlight through the inky black saltwater of the reach. Once they arrived on the island, Jax took one of the communal lanterns from the post office’s storage containers, lit it and handed it to Pomni, who led the way home. Moths tapped futilely at the hot glass, and mosquitos descended on the two of them. The citronella oil in the lantern kept many of them at bay, but a few alighted on them to drink, only to be crushed into charcoal black smudges. Insects chirred and frogs sang, but it was otherwise a silent trek home.

Even in almost total darkness, Pomni knew the path. She could do it blindfolded, having lived on the island for two and a half decades. The edge of The Rooker estate’s sterile garden came into view, and Jax turned to look at Pomni. His eyes were shaded in the bubble of light created by the lantern, painting his already dour expression in shadow.

“My sincerest apologies for my family’s behavior tonight. If my father sends another letter to you, I’ll read it for you. If it isn’t anything worth reading, I’ll be rid of it.”

Pomni shook her head. “I’m the one at fault. I failed to adhere to our plan to keep quiet and let the night play out. I owe you and your brothers an apology. …I’m ashamed of myself.”

Jax managed a smile. In the dark, his Cheshire grin looked quite ominous.

“You needn’t be. How can you be expected to not react when all of this, the wedding, my family, was dropped on you so suddenly? I’m… impressed at how you stood up to my father,” Jax looked off into the dark. “Goodness knows I don’t have the backbone.”

Pomni looked at him for a long while. “I believe you do. But I’d rather not bandy with you at the moment… I’m quite tired.”

“As am I,” Jax concurred.

Pomni led him down then overgrown cobblestone walk to Kinger’s front stoop. Jax unlocked the door.

“Mr. Krolik?” Pomni asked before the rabbit could open the door. She kept her eyes on her shoes. “…Please go straight to bed. You needn’t sedate yourself. There’s no sense in making yourself sick when you’ve already been ill once tonight.”

Jax smiled again. It did not reach his eyes.

“I’ll try,” he said.

Even Pomni, who had her difficulties with reading people, could tell that was a bald-faced lie. However, she found her rebuttal caught in her throat when Jax reached down to gingerly pick up her left hand. He removed his sweat-addled gloves and tucked them into his breast pocket, so his paw was relatively dry. He closed his eyes and bent down slightly, placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, just beside her ring.

“Good night, Pomni,” he said, opening the door to The Rooker Estate.

“…Good night, Jax.” Pomni replied, just before the door closed in its entirety.

Pomni was left standing on the stoop, the lantern and her cheeks smoldering. She stood and thought for a good half minute before she turned and journeyed home.

—

As soon as the next morning’s birds began twittering, and dim, gray dawnlight filtered through her curtains, Pomni rolled out of bed. She dressed herself in a plain, Robin’s egg blue dress. She hadn’t slept particularly well, and a need for rest laid heavily on her eyelids, but she sought guidance that morning. She took a moment to brush her teeth and comb her slightly oily hair, splashing some cold water on her face to help keep awake.

She pulled on her stockings and crept downstairs to avoid rousing her parents. She slid her feet into her pumps, tapping the toe of each on the floor to fit it correctly, and went to find Zooble.

“Up early again, Ms. Shutnyk,” they said. They hadn’t begun making Pomni’s parents breakfast for the day, instead enjoying their own light meal, toast with strawberry preserves and a dusting of sand with plain red tea, at the dining room table.

“Good morning, Zooble,” Pomni said.

“How went your meeting with the in-laws?” they asked, blowing on their tea and taking a sip. Zooble had been the only person Pomni told about the meeting, naturally.

“It went…” Pomni thought for a moment. “Dreadfully. Simply dreadfully. Drexl Krolik is an ogre.”

Zooble let out what might have been a faint laugh. “He did come off as rather severe, didn’t he?” They took a bite of their toast, holding it over the plate so any loose crumbs or grains fell safely back onto it.

“He left in the middle of dinner to beat two of Jax’s brothers,” Pomni continued. “I asked the eldest brother to excuse us as head of the house, and he did. So, doubtlessly, I’ll be receiving a letter demanding my return.”

Zooble swallowed their food, having another sip of tea to wash the sand out of their invisible mouth.

“I’ll keep your secrets, but when your parents discover them, and they will, I will be very, very disappointed in you.” they said.

Pomni smiled. “Of course. You don’t deserve to lose your position because of me. And my parents…”

“Can go walk off the pier, as far as you're concerned?” Zooble finished.

“That’s significantly more mild than what I was envisioning. But yes.” Pomni said with another smile.

“I imagine that you and I share similar sentiments about your parents’ decision-making prowess.” Zooble replied.

Pomni giggled. “Indubitably. I should be going now. If you receive a letter from Drexl Krolik-”

“Then you will be the first to read it,” Zooble finished. “Honestly, what kind of third-rate caretaker do you think I am?”

Pomni nodded. “Of course. My apologies for interrupting your breakfast.”

As she made to leave, Zooble spoke up. “Please be back at a reasonable hour. Your mother has hired a tailor to measure you for your wedding dress. You know she’ll be upturning the entire island to find you.”

Pomni sighed. “Very well. Thank you as always, Zooble.”

“They really should pay me more, shouldn’t they?” Zooble replied without looking up from their tea.

Pomni exited the estate with her purse. She picked up the communal lantern from the stoop, planning on returning it to the post office and then heading to The Gray Church. It was a cloudy morning, the sky a billowy gray and white. There was a very slight chill in the air, the final hurrah of springtime before summer arrived in full. Pomni closed her eyes and enjoyed the soothing ambience. She was still quite tired, her eyes remaining lidded for almost a full minute before reluctantly opening again. She hoped this dress business wasn’t an all day affair, her mother could take so long on tasks that should have taken an hour or two at most.

She sighed, turning and walking towards the post office.

—

Pomni glanced around the confession booth. She had never been inside it before, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. It was nothing but a gray room, about the size of an outdoor privy, with a pull string for the bell, an old and somewhat moth-eaten cushion to sit on, and a screened window into the priest or priestess’s chamber. She swallowed, sitting on the cushion, and rang the bell.

She waited a moment. Another moment. Several moments more. She thought about leaving, and she thought about ringing the bell again. Ragatha always told her that it greatly irritated her when a confessor repeatedly rang the bell, so she thought better of it. Sure enough, she soon heard footsteps from within the sanctuary, the door to the confessional booth open, and a person take their seat just by the window.

“Good morning, my child. Tell me what ails you,” came Ragatha’s motherly voice from the other side of the booth. Anyone would feel more at ease if a voice that warm told them everything was going to be alright.

“Sister, I have doubts and seek guidance,” Pomni said.

“Of course, you may begin when you are ready,” Ragatha said.

“Well… you see, my… friend is to be married to a man she barely knows. And she was opposed to the idea at first, naturally, but now-”

“Pomni?” Ragatha asked in her regular voice.

Blazes.

“Er… but-but now she-”

“Pomni, that is you! What are you doing in the confessional?”

Pomni sighed again. “I was… hoping to get some advice anonymously.”

Ragatha scoffed. “Darling, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Come inside, I’ve just made tea.”

Ragatha then rose to her feet and exited the confessional, chuckling to herself. Pomni bit at her thumbnail, but obliged, entering the church anyway. She took the stairs down into the rectory, where Ragatha and Gangle sat around the table.

“Ms. Shutnyk! It’s so nice to see you again!” Gangle said with a wave.

“Good morning, Ms. Gangle,” Pomni said, waving back shyly.

Ragatha smoothed out her habit, keeping her hood down as she normally did around guests. It appeared as though she had just gotten dressed, as she had to pause a moment to roll up her sleeves.

“So, something so serious has happened, you felt the urge to confess anonymously? For the first time as long as I’ve known you? Goodness, what could have happened?” Ragatha said with a small smile.

“It isn’t anything wrong that I’ve done… It’s merely something… embarrassing.” Pomni said. She sat in her usual chair and picked up her cup.

“Embarrassing?” Ragatha asked.

“Yes, embarrassing. I am to be married soon, as you both know…” Pomni began.

“I seem to recall you were somewhat upset about that.” Gangle jested. Ragatha fought a smile and gently nudged her.

“But… things have changed. I believe…” Pomni took a deep breath and stared down at her teacup. “I believe I have caught feelings for him.”

Ragatha and Gangle were both silent with anticipation.

“But..?” Ragatha coaxed.

“…But nothing. I… I fear I’ve caught feelings for him.” Pomni said. She looked at them both with a dire expression.

Ragatha and Gangle looked at each other, then back to Pomni.

“That’s what is upsetting you so?” Ragatha asked incredulously.

“Ms. Shutnyk, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!” Gangle chirped, clasping her ribbons together.

“You had me so worried, darling, good heavens…” Ragatha fanned herself, slumping over with relief.

“N-No!” Pomni shouted, making Gangle jump. “It’s not wonderful! They’ve won, don’t you understand? They’ve finally forced me to gain feelings for a stranger!”

Ragatha sat up straighter. “Forced you? Little sister, no one forced you.”

“But they have! They-” Pomni began, but Ragatha gently interrupted her by grasping one of her hands.

“Pomni Shutnyk. I’ve known you for seven years, and there is one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty. If you don’t want to do something, I don’t think anyone short of The Allfather could make you. If anybody, and I mean anybody told you to love Jax Krolik when you didn’t actually love him, there would be no further discussion. You wouldn’t.”

Pomni frowned and sipped her tea with her free hand. She looked down at her feet. “I don’t follow.”

Ragatha smiled and leaned forward. “I’m saying, Pomni, that your feelings are real, not manipulated. You are not the kind to be manipulated. I think you feel this way about Mr. Krolik because you are genuinely fond of Mr. Krolik. And that’s wonderful! You found a kindred spirit!”

Pomni gripped her cup a bit tighter. “But… It’s manufactured. I didn’t meet Jax on my own, I was forced to! I wanted to pursue my own dream, not my parents’ dream!”

“Who says you can’t pursue a dream, Ms. Shutnyk?” Gangle piped up.

Pomni shook her head in frustration. “Everyone! The entire broken, idiotic ideology that this country is built on! I wanted to take over my father’s firm, but I cannot because-”

Ragatha held up the hand she was using to hold Pomni’s. “Peace for a moment, dear. Do you still want to inherit your father’s business?”

“No! Never, not after he betrayed me like he did!” Pomni declared.

“So… what is your dream now?” Ragatha asked with a tilt of her head. Her curls bounced.

“I…”

Pomni froze.

“I… I don’t know.”

Ragatha rested three fingers on her chin and looked up, deep in thought. “Perhaps that is something you should contemplate for the future. This is my advice. I believe you should find what brings you the most joy. But even if you aren’t sure what that is now, answer me this question: Who do you see at your side in the future? Are you alone?”

“I don’t know…” Pomni said again.

“Oh, but I think you do, Ms. Shutnyk. I think you do know.” Gangle said with a smile.

Pomni covered her face and whined. Ragatha stood up from her chair and embraced the smaller woman.

“It’s perfectly fine to have feelings, darling. You’re not gullible or weak for it. This is a good outcome to an incredibly untoward scenario.”

Pomni embraced Ragatha right back. “I’m… I don’t want to be a housewife…”

“Then don’t be. Be with the one you love, and do what you wish to do. That’s what I’ve done.”

Ragatha smiled and put a hand over Gangle’s ribbon as the shapewoman placed it on her shoulder. Gangle rested her cheek on Ragatha’s head with a smile.

“…I didn’t say I loved him.” Pomni said after a moment. “It’s only been a week. I just… I… I’m not as opposed to… courtship as I used to be…”

“Oh, bless your heart, darling.” Ragatha waved a hand and giggled. Gangle began to laugh, and Pomni joined in. Soon, they were all laughing together.

Pomni left the church, her spirits brightened somewhat. Ragatha’s guidance revealed something not quite expected, but it was… something good. She still detested the whole wedding rigamarole, and how her parents thought of her as a commodity, and her soon to be father-in-law’s compassion-free, ink-black soul, and how society treated her just because of her sex… But. She had grown an interest in the man she was to marry. A real interest. And that was something to treasure.

[thegodthief]

Dreamt I was told a story, and the storyteller wanted me to share it with others. And for the most part, the story was one I was comfortable sharing, until it got to one certain point. I considered what other people have done with the stories I have shared before, and realized this wouldn't be a trivial anecdote.

I asked the storyteller if I could rewrite that portion, they declined. I had to write it the way it was told to me. I asked them if I could leave that part out entirely, and they declined that, too. That portion was the whole point of telling.

I asked the storyteller was it necessary that I share the story in the first place. They remained silent, but their face hinted at a feral smile.

If I did not share the story, they warned, then it would devour me instead.

It has been four days since the storyteller told me a story. It has been four days since I have declined to share it. I have considered the story coming and going. I see where my detractors will accuse me of bandwagoning and where they will accuse me of cultural appropriation. I see where my traumas made themselves known and the wishful thinking I thought was left behind but is still hooked to my legs. I see how the story is just one more in an ocean of words, but I also see how the story is unique to itself.

And each time I come to the scene that made me pause. I don't want to tell this scene as it was told to me. It's not that I am ashamed of my actions in the story. To be honest, my actions are no different in the story than it would be in any other event, waking or dream. It's not that the storyteller laid bare one of my fears. Those who have read my words from the beginning know all about my fears, and how I have worked to overcome them.

"You are a storyteller. Tell this story."

"I have a duty to those I tell stories to."

"The only duty you bear is the telling. What they choose to do with your words is their consequences to bear."

"If I leave a hot pan in reach of a child, and the child scalds themselves, whose fault is it? The fault of the person who knew better, or the fault of the innocent?"

"Do you write for children?"

"... No."

"Do you write for innocents?"

"... Heh, no."

"Then, who do you write for?"

"... I have been asking myself that from the moment I started telling stories. The answer has yet to reveal itself to me. I will sit on this story until I find the audience for it."

"It will devour you."

"As do many."

[ladybeug]

Alright so

It has been about 24 hours since i finished @peachcitts fanfiction metamorphosis and i spent at least 3 of those hours making a fanmix.

Listen, Im sorry, this is just who I am, Im someone who wants to make a playlist about a specific iteration of ml characters. Especially if there are some grey morals up in there.

read the fic, listen to the fanmix, follow me under the cut thats where the party is

...and by party I mean analytical summary of each song.

I'm about to talk about some of these choices I made in depth, as a treat for myself. An indulgence. I'll keep the fic references high level but there may be some theme/tone spoilers so real talk go read the fic and meet me back here.

@peachcitt I know I tagged you but this will get long you do not have to read it or acknowledge this homage just know I appreciated your story and thought a lot about it.

so.

the whole playlist is meant to be listened to start to finish, its half the tragedy and half the hard work to get your life right side up and the rewards.

I actively tried not to put Cry for Judas on here and i did ANYWAYS

its on so many of my playlists already, I'm loose with this song. But frankly if i could only keep it on one I would keep it on here. I mean I just don't think any other adrien iterations do things just to see how bad they'll make him feel QUITE like this one and i just HAD to have that as the first line of lyrics in the playlist.

I'm just also obsessed with sad and angry, can't learn how to behave?? The tragic acceptance of being unable to be good??

find me a better match. this song had to be on here and it had to be first.

Your Ghost - this might be the only song thats only about Marinette which is a crime because I really connected with her pov but the truth is that this is an adrien fanmix and i need to accept that.

But for real the acceptance but inability to move on in this song is just perfect.

Can't Lose - maybe the angriest song on here? A little angrier than I was going for but I had to keep this one though because, I mean, "I'm thinking I can't move if there isn't somewhere else to go?" like, the, 'sure what im doing is bad but what else IS there' of it, I mean, what can I even say. It had to be on here.

If you only listen to one song on here listen to Animal Mask.

It's a song about partners in a wrestling match written as a metaphor for when John Darnielle's wife was in labor, and its so tender and sweet, and frankly it sounds like it could have been written for metamorphosis for like every single flashback of ladybug and chat noir.

I could quote every line and be like 'this is them' but like, 'hold on,' I cried, 'I'll be right there', pulled your mask down through your hair. they won't see you, not until you want them to. What am I supposed to say?? It moves me deeply I'm having emotional problems please come join me. Every other song on this playlist doesn't matter.

Anyways intermission, while we're here, let me share this experience that I had today with you:

I did then proceed to count, was appropriately ashamed that about 25% of the playlist was mountain goats, and extremely painfully chose to remove 'oceanographer's choice'.

[tangent about Oceanographers Choice vs Haunted House]

As obsessed as I am with going straight from the unbearably tender memory in animal mask to oceanographer's choice, first line: "well, guy in a skeleton costume, walks up to a guy in a superman suit, runs through him with a broadsword", the anxious switch in music, and then straight into a song about a fucked up guy fighting the woman he is still complicatedly in love with.... and he doesn't know how else to be....

oh no, listen, as I typed that I half convinced myself to add it back in again

but I won't because I even more love the transit of animal mask to the shrill and tense line in Haunted House, "I was buried in the summer, all those parties ago", and then a confused and hysterical song about dissociation and loss of control in a world where nobody seems connected to what you're going through. The tone is more ungrounded, and scared, and less resigned. Which matches what I was going for - I tried to avoid songs that were just like... "yeah i'm evil >:) thats my identity"

[end tangent]

Little Pistol I feel like I barely have to justify, but I will say what really sold me is the reference to 'I want what's best for me, and I think I know just what that means'. But then also the slight change in tune at the end? Delicious?

The Run and Go, just read the fic ok

I Wanna Get Better is one that honestly feels like it doesn't fit perfectly but I'm really drawn to a sharp turning point in the playlist from 'bad and spiraling' to 'desperately clawing my way up' which is how reading the fic felt at a certain point, and this song feels like the perfect tonal shift and has the end-of-a-movie screaming conviction that I want. Its also just so good

Do it Anyways might be the second most important song... third most important? on this fanmix. The frantic, panicky music matched with the unwavering conviction to improvement is so unmatched honestly and if we're talking about how hard it is to be your best when you feel your worst, oh my god. Read the fic, listen at 2:44 and meet me back here and there's nothing else I even need to say

Absolute Lithops Effect.... I tricked you, this is also a mountain goats song :) its a cover though so I'm not counting it.

This is one of the most beautiful songs about hope for the future and growth that I know its very important to me. The title of the playlist comes from this song. Here's what you need to know about it:

Lithops are these:

They grow so slowly they don't look like they're growing at all. But they are.

Love Love Love: Ugh don't talk to me about love love love. I'm not going to explain how this connects to the fic. It does, I'm right. There's nothing I can say about this that can't be said better by Mr. Mountain Goats himself:

"The point of the song is, you know, that we are fairly well damaged by the legacy of the Romantic poets--that we think of love as this, you know, thing that is accompanied by strings and it's a force for good, and if something bad happens then that's not love. And the therapeutic tradition that I come from--I used to work in therapy--you know, also says that it's not love if it feels bad. I don't know so much about that. I don't know that the Greeks weren't right. I think they were--that love can eat a path through everything--that it will destroy a lot of things on the way to its own objective, which is just its expression of itself, you know. I mean, my stepfather loved his family, right? Now he mistreated us terribly quite often, but he loved us. And, you know, well, that to me is something worth commenting on in the hopes of undoing a lot of what I perceive as terrible damage in the way people talk about this--love is this benign, comfortable force. It's not that. It's wild, you know?" — NPR interview with Linda Wertheimer, 14 May 2005

Metamorphosis: okay this one I added to make myself laugh but I also stand by it thematically

SUPERBLOOM: Don't we all deserve a little celebration for the hard work we do?

Anyways this is my fanmix, if you read to here I love you and you're welcome for all the mountain goats songs I peeled off of here that I didn't even tell you about. I didn't even put heel turn 2 on here. Whoops ok now i've told you about that one.

[the-haunted-office]

Oh dear. This handwritten note obviously wasn’t supposed to end up here. Some advice?

3rd and 31st of Wend Nothing to-night. By my last candle I might work the page again with such miseries. It is too cold to fetch more. How many terrible secrets must I spill to lay my conscience to rest? I have tucked away my things, my fine pottery and the rug. And all of the clothes not borrowed, which fit nicely into the trunk. But I cannot bring myself to tell. If my feelings for my employer bear nothing on my work, is there a matter? Must I leave? I keep them to my chest. One day I fear they will spill out. There is a Baron more difficult than she, acquainted with my late employer. I would go there, be dutiful and have not one feeling. If only I could persuade myself. Will sleep again.

{ My character now has an advice column in a respectable periodical. Ask them advice on anything from romantic conundrums to windmill operation tips! }

Stanley looks at the letter, or perhaps it's a journal or diary entry? It's difficult to tell. It could be either, but to him it looks more like it wasn't meant to be drafted and sent for anyone else to read. It looks like it was someone's private feelings, written down on paper to be put to rest.

He can't help but feels for this person, whoever or wherever they are. Secret feelings for their employer. Forbidden feelings, it seems like. Of course they're forbidden - they're feelings for their employer. Under what circumstances would those kinds of feelings be appropriate? Well, unless the work environment they're in is more accepting of that kind of thing, but then again, why are they writing about it in private, if they aren't ashamed or incredibly shy?

There is talk of a Baron, one being more difficult than "she". Is the employer this person works for a Baron too, then? Or... whatever other kinds of high ranking officials there are surrounding Barons? Stanley doesn't know what all they are called. Dukes? Kings? He was never brushed up on that kind of system or era, so he can't recall the proper terminology.

In either case, Stanley gets out a pen and paper, and writes back what he hopes will be the best response he can summon. After all, he does understand to some degree what it's like to have feelings for your 'superior', in a manner of speaking. Maybe he can, at the very least, provide a friendly ear.

Hello, or To Whom it may concern,

My name is Stanley. I received your note, expressing your feelings for your employer, and questioning what to do, whether you should leave or stay, and whether you should speak up about your feelings.

It is a difficult choice, isn't it? Both choices. All choices. Deciding whether it is easier to leave and keep your feelings contained to yourself; or to stay, and speak up. Or speak up, and leave. Or stay, and remain silent.

Life is so much easier when it's lived with other people telling us what to do, even when we don't like the things they are telling us to do. At least then, if the choice ends up being wrong, the consequences aren't our fault. At least then, we don't have to answer for the fallout. It all is on the shoulders of the person who made the call. Maybe we will get yelled at for it. Maybe we will be the one cleaning up the mess. But the one who is truly at fault isn't us, it's the one who gave us the order.

But that's just something we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better at the end of the day, after the mistakes have been made. After the consequences. The fallout. I think making our own choices is so much more important, so much more rewarding, even if there are consequences. Even if the consequences are greater. Because if we are going to have to answer to consequences either way, at least they will be the result of choices we made, not someone else. It will be a result of own our autonomy.

I too have feelings for someone who is in a higher status than I am. Sort of. In the place where I live, there is a sort of 'ranking system', you might say, and this man 'ranks' higher than I do. He is in charge, and I am a lowly employee. We spend a lot of time together. I know he likes me and cares a lot about me, and I feel the same. But I still fear him in some ways. Is it the same for you? I feel that it may be, from reading your note. Or maybe it isn't her that you fear, it's the consequences that may arise from voicing your feelings.

I don't know if I will ever be brave enough to voice my feelings either, but I don't think I can run from them either. At the same time, I would not blame you for running. Just make sure that the choice is yours. Whatever you do in your life, make sure that whatever you choose, accept the consequences, good and bad, because they are yours. They are yours, and that is so important.

Your friend, Stanley

With the letter finished, Stanley reads over it, hoping it says everything he has meant to say, and that it finds the person it is meant to find. He releases it into the wind outside of the Office, and most of all, he hopes it helps them.